between dogs and wolves
by hihazuki
Summary: Their worlds were centuries apart, as different as dawn and dusk. Two shining kings who bore the weight of a crown, their convictions unyielding to their enemies. Vainglorious and reverent. Divine and human. Revelry and order. Two civilizations and ethos existing on opposite ends of the spectrum, never meant to intersect outside space and time. Until Fate decides to intervene.
1. camelot: into the fray

_"When I investigate and when I discover that the forces of the heavens and the planets are within ourselves, then truly, I seem to be living among the gods."_

 _ **~ Leon Battista Alberti**_

* * *

 _It is a dream unlike any he has ever experienced before._

 _One might say a god king does not dream. Dreams are mere, idyllic fantasies of the common man, whose ambitions, desires, and lust are restricted by their inherent human limitations. A king who lacks humanity does not dream, for there is little meaning in dreaming of things already within their divine right and possession._

 _Yet, he dreams. How else does one bide his time in a world filled to the brim with his endless wealth and puissance? He is above and beyond all mortals, therefore the value of his dreams simply cannot be compared._

 _Occasionally, the king's dreams surpass the imaginable; crossing the realm of surrogate reality to touch upon the senses. Those dreams are often closely intertwined with visions bestowed upon him once in a blue moon._

 _He supposes this is one of those times, as he awakes to air unfamiliar to his nostrils._

 _A knock sounds on the door. "Your Majesty, my King? It is time. The council humbly requests your timely presence. The tournament will begin once you make your attendance."_

 _A tournament, he says? A match of strength should be within his knowledge well before its initiation. If he finds some cur has defied his golden decree, they will know the true meaning of agony indeed._

 _"K-King Arthur?" The voice sounds strange to his ears, its words demarcated by a thick accent hailing from a distant land to the likes of which he has never heard before._

 _"What tournament?" The voice that comes out is clearly not his own. It is low and deep; though it bears with it a clear hint of femininity, the silvery dulcet rings with firm authority and conviction. It bears the same kind of peculiarity as the voice currently grating on his nerves, although this one has a clearly distinguished cut-glass accent to it. It distracts enough for him to momentarily set aside the oddity of the name in which he is just now called._

 _"Err….your engagement with Lady Guinevere took place yesterday…? As you are surely aware of, it is customary for the Pendragon family to celebrate this momentous occasion with a conjugal tournament, as a way to honor the strength of our ancestors who came before us and bless our future royal progeny…. Is something the matter, Your Highness?"_

 _"...I see. Very well, you're dismissed."_

 _"Um….if you are feeling unwell, I can—"_

 _"Are you deaf, mongrel? I ordered you to leave!" He hisses, and it comes out with a virulence akin to a viper's sweet toxin._

 _He hears the voice squeak a garbled jumble of words that vaguely resembles an apology, followed immediately by a frantic scurrying of footsteps, leaving him to simmer in silence._

 _How vexing. He has no idea what is happening anymore, and there is a limit to what he can take. Dream or vision, he has not yet decided; he is only sure that his patience is depleting apace._

 _Rising from the bed, he proceeds to take in his surroundings with a sweeping, derogatory glance._

 _By his standards, it is a scarcely embellished chamber, barely befitting that of a supposed monarch. Drab, stone walls line the whole periphery of his vision, damask curtains billowing in the morning breeze that flit through the windows. Sunlight pours through the portholes and filter through the cracks of the wooden awning that stood out conspicuously in the corner._

 _Primitive. Dreadfully primitive. Even his dungeons are more pleasing to look at than this pathetic excuse for a royal bedroom._

 _Although that contraption over there looks quite appealing. He's never quite seen something like it before…_

 _Before he knows it, he has already begun to drift towards the object of inspection, when he catches a glint of a mirror on the edge of his vision._

 _He turns._

 _For a second, he considers shattering the mirror to rid it of its potential mage craft._

 _Have Ishtar's paltry wiles caught him off guard for once? To manipulate his dreams to this degree; it was truly an admirable accomplishment for a goddess as subpar as she. Perhaps the goddess realized her own incompetence and sought Ereshkigal's help in the underworld. In which case it was scarcely plausible._

 _The person glaring back at him is fair. A fair complexion and slender physique, pale blonde hair falling to the shoulders, a shade or two lighter than his own brilliant gold, with eyes gleaming pure turquoise. The thin, white material of the night gown is flowy, yet barely hides soft curves and pointedly feminine features, and the truth bares itself for him to partake in all its glory._

 _He is a woman._

 _A girl._

 _The raucous laughter comes like a merciless tide, wracking his tiny, fragile frame like a boat rocking violently on the seas._

 _He can't stop. This is it. Is this dream trying to kill him?_

 _"A woman king? How ludicrous. What a nonsensical dream this is."_

* * *

When Arturia wakes up, it is as though she has just risen from a deep, yet invigorating slumber. It brings her a sense of contentment, for it is not often that she wakes up freshly rejuvenated. Unfortunately, taking up the mantle of the Once and Future King of Britain effectively keeps her away from her bed for long periods at a time, spending late nights poring over paperwork in her chambers with a slowly eroding oil lamp for company or riding out to maintain order within Camelot and its neighboring territories. When she does find time to recuperate, it is within a strict time allotment and almost always accompanied by troubled, fatigue-induced slumber.

As she changes out of her nightgown into her court dress, she ponders over her most recent dream. Come to think of it, she recalls seeing a big, fluffy lion through the thick, murky fog of her dream. It had looked so real, so soft that she could almost nuzzle into its luscious, radiant fur…

A stray glance at her desk jolts her out of her fond reminiscing instantly, replacing it with unadulterated horror.

She has an extremely hard time believing what she is seeing. Papers are strewn from their immaculate pile at the corner and dabs of ink stain some of the documents; as though a newborn baby, curious of objects he has never seen before, clambered on the table, dipped his thumb in ink, and haphazardly ransacked her meticulous arrangement.

The shock and confusion morphs into abject lividity as, upon closer inspection, the ink stains are crude and jagged, callously running across her documents and thoroughly desecrating its integrity. Various scrolls are torn from ink that was applied with an disproportionate amount of pressure; its carefully preserved writing now a charred, ripped discombobulation of words that used to hold significant meaning. What remains of her quill is now ruined along with any sense of composure she has left.

It is not a stray animal that has caused such disorder, no. Her windows remain closed and locked at night, and is not opened until she wakes up in the morning, so there are no chances of birds swooping in while she is out of commission to commit such atrocities. And even for a prank, this has gone long past what is morally admissible.

As she rifles through the papers on the desk and names in her head, she spots an empty scroll with words. It is legible handwriting that is not mere scribbling or scratching, although it is far too rough and unrefined to be hers. She procures it from the pile and brings it closer until she can clearly make out its contents, and her eyes widen in affronted disbelief.

 ** _Since when do they let court jesters become king?_**

Before she could react, there is a soft knock at the door, and impulse compels her to shove that particular document underneath a new stack of papers she has accumulated, consecutively stomping down on the viable rage that threatened to bubble to the surface.

She'll take care of it later.

"Arthur?" There is a sweet voice, gentle and lilting. "May I come in?"

"Lady Guinevere?" Arturia wonders aloud. It is not often that Guinevere visits her in her chambers, having her own duties to attend to as Queen-to-be of Camelot. She hurriedly steps away from her desk and turns to her mirror, pretending as though the last few minutes hadn't happened. No need to cause undue alarm yet. "You may enter."

Guinevere's footsteps are as light and fleeting as her countenance, a wave of elegance and poise befitting of a future Queen. Arturia has to look towards her to see that she has stepped into the room with quiet grace.

She closes the door behind her with a final click before she addresses Arturia by her true name. "Arturia, how are you feeling today?"

If the King finds the question odd, she does not show it. "I'm feeling rather well today, Lady Guinevere, thank you. Also, forgive me for asking, though I am curious as to what brings you here so early in the morning."

Guinevere chuckles as she approaches, her silver headpiece glinting as she steps into the sunlight where Arturia stands. Her golden, wavy hair frames her face like a halo, radiating warmth and muliebrity. "Oh, nothing much, really. I merely intended to pay my future husband and king a visit. I certainly don't mean to impose."

"Not at all." Arturia musters a smile. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Guinevere motions towards an idle comb and ribbon on the dresser, and the implications of it are clear. Preferably, Arturia would not deign to trouble anyone with making herself look presentable, but since it is Guinevere, she relents.

They spend a few moments in amiable silence as Guinevere stands behind a seated Arturia, brushing her hair to loosen her knots and smooth out her tresses. Her ministrations are thoughtful and placid, but not hesitant. It is a nostalgic feeling, having familiar hands run through her hair and work its delicate magic.

As if tuned into her thoughts, Guinevere decides to speak. "Honestly, you needn't be so stiff with me, Arturia. I am still the Gwen you know, your closest ally and friend. It saddens me to see you withdraw from me so."

Arturia would be fooling herself if she says she honestly didn't expect this coming. Her hands clench within the folds of her dress as she makes a point to avoid Guinevere's solemn gaze, falling to her own blue dress reflected in the mirror. Part of her hoped that Guinevere would not take heed to her rigid formality —one she retained a proclivity for subsequent to being crowned King— but she knows better. "I...I apologize. It's just… I feel I owe you much, after constraining you into this...political arrangement. As king, I am responsible for soiling your honor and denying you the freedom in which you wholeheartedly deserve. And I vow on my—"

"Arturia, please. We've been through this before. I've told you time and time again; this was entirely my decision. I truly believe this is the way things should be, for the prosperity of our kingdom." She exhales wistfully, leaning over her king to retrieve her ribbon. "Is it not possible to return to the days when were younger, laughing together without worry and loving without reservation?"

The King recalls visions of halcyon days, a time when she was but a mere knight princess, jubilant and heady after days and months of journeying, each time reuniting with Guinevere displaying a broad smile and cheerfully recounting numerous adventures with her treasured comrades. She remembers the days when she would drag Guinevere out with her on hunts after expeditions to hunt for game, when in reality a small, childish part of her was merely eager to impress Guinevere with what she learned. "But were it not for King Leodegrance's camaraderie with my father—"

"In spite of being the one to petition this union, my father has nothing to do with my personal beliefs." She interjects firmly. "My desires are my own, you must understand. I would choose to give up my life for you if it means you do not bear the burden of kingship alone, and I would do again so should the opportunity arise once more. I have no regrets. I will stand beside you, I swear it." With a last flourish of her nimble artistry, the ribbon is neatly woven into her braids, coiled beautifully around a bun like a wreath.

Arturia closes her eyes and huffs in defeat, belied by a hint of a smile tugging the corner of her lips. "You have interrupted me twice, invalidated my every refute, and rendered me speechless. Truly, I know of no woman more tenacious than you. I am blessed to have you as my soon-to-be Queen and closest advisor."

To her surprise, Guinevere laughs, light and fluttery. "Oh, sweetheart. Surely you jest! After the stunt you pulled yesterday, I think we both know there is someone much more tenacious than I, and you are looking right at her."

"I…" At that moment, she forgets what she was about to say. "Pardon me… yesterday? What happened yesterday?"

Guinevere gives her an odd look. "Yes. You don't remember? During the tournament—"

"The tournament?!" Arturia interrupts, feeling the mirth trickle away from her face like sand in an hourglass. How could she have forgotten something so significant? And yet she could not recall anything from it; as if she had never attended at all. "Tell me, did something happen?"

The Queen-to-be looks positively flustered. "Well… I don't quite know how to put this. I know how much you pride yourself in being proper and punctual, so it did strike me as odd that not only were you late yesterday to the council briefing, prior to the tournament, but also looking a little out of sorts. And you were acting strangely...aggressive. When we were together at the joust, you displayed fairly heavy physical intimacy. I assumed it was for the sake of the crowd, but it was still awfully unlike you."

Arturia feels her world start to splinter. "...And?"

"I'm sure you're aware that tradition dictates members of the royalty behave as spectators to the tournament, but you...you took it upon yourself to step into the fray. Forgive me for saying this, Arturia, but you seemed almost…possessed. You were constantly laughing like a madman, and it worried all of your knights. You wouldn't listen to anything I said, nor the council. And the way you fought… I've never seen anything like it. It was almost as if you were the quintessence of brute force. You singlehandedly defeated the victor and disarmed all the other knights that followed after him. It certainly was captivating to look at, even if you were acting very off…Arturia?"

"No…" Arturia whispers, utterly faint. She feels the nausea rising from Guinevere's retelling of events so outlandishly absurd to the point she could not remember a single thing. This was a case that was only possible given a case of heavy alcoholism, and Arturia knows for a fact that she did not drink, especially for such a pivotal occasion. "That can't be. I've no recollection of any of this!"

"Arturia, you might want to rest again. You'll work yourself up too much. I can take over your duties for today." she advises, the worry in her voice tangible. "Merlin might be able to help—"

" _Merlin_!" Arturia snarls. "That cheeky, infuriating court magus. Of course. He must be the one behind all of this."

Guinevere's sigh is deep as she watches Arturia spring from her seat, as if that one name has returned to her all the energy she was robbed. "Arturia, I know you distrust him, but he is not all that bad. Yes, he can be mischievous and inconsiderate at times, but surely even he would not pull off something like this to such a degree."

Arturia has already fastened her steel armor alongside the king's mantle and is preparing to leave her chambers. "You place too much faith in him, Gwen. Merlin is not above anything, not even the pettiest knavery, so long as it amuses him. The only reason I still allow him in court is because I owe him a great debt." Her lips tighten into a fine line. "I shall have a word with him."

* * *

 **A/N** : If the tags and content haven't given it away yet, this fic is basically a huge Kimi no Na Wa/Your Name AU, with its only similarities being that of body switching. Yes, if you've seen that movie, you'll know that there will be a tons of body switching. Tons and tons of it. This story will hopefully reach outside the scope of Gilgamesh and Arturia, into the fruits of their people, labor and civilization, and communicate with the ordained kings in ways that face-to-face conversation can't.

This fic will be comprised of two segments: Camelot and Babylonia. Each chapter will focus on the adventures of one in the other's era and vice versa (so there _will_ be overlapping times between chapters) until they will eventually, inevitably intersect.

This is a collaboration project written by me and a friend of mine. Unfortunately, we have no idea how this is going to pan out, since we're figuring things out ourselves as we go along. Despite that, we don't need Gilgamesh's clairvoyance to tell us that a lot of things are going to go murderously awry. Hilariously awry, awkwardly awry, and everything in between. That's what you get when you mash together Gilgamesh and Arturia in any kind of situation. But honestly? It works.

If you've read this far and intend to stay with us, you have all our gratitude! We hope you're excited for what's to come, because we totally are.

P.S. This story is originally posted on AO3 and includes art! You can check my profile for the original link.


	2. camelot: changeling

**A/N** :

 _hey there! i didn't realize it's been over two months since i posted. sorry about that! IRL has been super hectic. finals really took a lot out of me, but i still kept trying to write whenever i could. thankfully, my last day of finals just ended yesterday, so this chapter is essentially posted in celebration of my long-awaited freedom yesss. hopefully the next update won't take as long, but unfortunately, my co-writer is no longer able to continue with me, so updates may not be as fast as i want it to be. fgo might have also played a factor in my procrastination. in the meantime, i did manage to string together a decent outline for where i want this fic to go, so that's something. english isn't my first language and i feel like i'm more of an artist than a writer, but i'm still gonna give it my all! only the best for the otp._

 _without further ado, let's meet the rest of the camelot kids! you'll see a few who might be more problematic than most...one of them much sooner than you think. ;p_

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.

.

She should have known better than to visit Merlin. She's known him from basically the day she was born.

Merlin, the brilliant magus who had played an integral hand in shaping her destiny, the man who had raised her and given her a family when her own father couldn't.

Merlin, the insufferable vagrant who would never give her a straight answer even when she —god forbid whenever this happens— _begs_ for it and instead turns every single question into a rhetoric. He was one who would at times lend a much-needed guiding hand or turn her life into a living hell for no rhyme nor reason. There was no in-between.

Sighing, she rubs her temples with a hand as she makes her way to her throne room, already dreading what that day will bring her. After her distasteful (and rather one-sided) altercation with Merlin, she had opted to have her breakfast delivered to her room. She was not in a pragmatic enough state of mind to eat with the Knights of the Round and Guinevere.

It turned out to be a good decision on her end. Her suspicions ignited once she saw the state of the page delivering her food —he was uncharacteristically skittish; from the way his hands quaked under his simple, loose garment, the way he let out an unsolicited squeak after she accepted her tray, and impetuous hightailing from the room as soon as Arturia gave him her thanks. It was easy to tell the poor lad had been scarred for life by something —or some _one_ — most harrowing.

Which, based on all that occurred, was most likely her, no matter how much she protested against the very idea.

If the boy had been so terrified of her, there was no telling how the other knights would have reacted in her presence. She is nowhere close to ready to find out, though avoiding them altogether is certainly out of the question.

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.

.

" _Merlin!" She gritted her teeth, rapping a knuckled fist against the wooden door leading to his laboratory of unmentionables and imminent floral profusions. "I'm coming in. In the name of Camelot, you had better look decent lest you'd prefer a walloping."_

" _Uh oh," a cheerful, rather guilt-free sounding voice chimed from within as Arturia slammed the door open. "King Arthur sounds a tad more irritable than usual. Not even asking for my permission to enter my private quarters. How very bold of you, Your Majesty." He cleared his throat, an innocuous act that only Merlin can make exceptionally ostentatious. "If I were engaged in the midst of a very important affair, it would be very bad, indeed. And when I say very bad, I mean truly catastrophic."_

 _Were Arturia not so chagrined, she would have scoffed. The only 'affair' Merlin would likely be engaging in were rosewater love affairs, and she knew him well enough by now to know that he was referring to none other._

 _As it was, she was close to smiting him alive. Her scowl was deep and her breathing a little heavier from the distance she ran to confront the damnable magus before he went off traipsing to god-knows-where. "_ _ **Merlin**_ _."_

" _Looks like I was wrong." Merlin amended in that sing-song voice, blatantly disregarding the murderous intent she wore on her sleeve. "You look downright chafed. What has your resplendent, ever dependable magus done to slight you this time?"_

" _I do not have time for your occult games, Merlin." She began threateningly, eyes flaring. "I have given you many allowances during these few years out of respect for you and for my father, but this has gone too far."_

 _Merlin's eyebrows shot up. "Pardon?"_

 _She continued. "To summon spitting-image doppelgangers of me running amok and concocting dubious love potions in the guise of restorative tonics are one thing. But directly besmirching my honor during a strictly ceremonial joust to the extent of humiliating Guinevere and the knights in front of the masses? All this for your senseless amusement? I absolutely cannot allow this to slide. Prepare to answer to your crimes."_

 _She didn't know if it was the utter rancor in her voice that compelled him to retain what semblance of seriousness he had, but it worked regardless as she saw his face change. The light-hearted twinkle in his eyes vanished, and the persistent dimple on his cheeks faded as his mouth coiled into a puzzled frown._

 _A small part of herself that was removed from this spectacle marvelled at what was probably the most drastic development she had incited from the obstinate magus. She had finally commanded his full attention; something that didn't happen regularly._

" _...I'm terribly sorry, but...would you say that again? Slower, this time?"_

 _Following the revelation, a measure of composure had returned to her. Guinevere's account was once again repeated, slower and much more deliberate this time, as her initial edge had worn off. That, and Merlin seemed to be taking it seriously._

 _A shred of doubt had taken root right then in Arturia's heart, but she pushed it down. She needed to know what Merlin had to say before letting judgement cloud her actions._

 _Granted, based on his hideous track record, it proved a challenge._

" _While you are severely mistaken," he began slowly. "I'm flattered you consider me highly enough to perform a feat of this magnitude, Arturia."_

" _Don't flatter yourself." she retorted. "Putting it as a feat is an embellishment. This is nothing more than arcane subterfuge."_

" _I doubt that." He said thoughtfully. "I know of no dark art that can replace a person's subconscious for them to puppet of their own free will. Magic of such esoteric quality can only be achieved by one who possess high divinity, and suffice to say the last of the divine have perished in the Age of the Gods. In this era, the closest to material possession I can think of can only be performed by proxy, and even then it is less a 'possession' and more of an 'alteration'. For instance, as you had graciously reminded me earlier, my potent love potions which can only alter certain psychological facets of the subconscious for a period of time." A smile crept on his face. "I must say, your discrimination against magic is showing. Even without magic, there are many other ways one can lose control and not remember a single thing the next morning. Like alco—"_

" _No, Merlin." She interrupted, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Have I not made the precedence of that tournament clear? Would you honestly think I would_ drink _prior to it?"_

" _That is true," he hummed. "Although that still does not repudiate my earlier statement."_

 _Her eyes narrowed. "That is neither here nor there. Just because I refuse to learn magic doesn't mean I discriminate against it."_

" _Magic is in your origin of birth, just as it is in mine." He pointed out. "It will not mar your reign in any way or form, merely augment it. Why not make use of your innate blessings?"_

" _Magecraft is not the way of the king." She frowned as the futility of the situation suddenly dawned on her. "Do enlighten me as to why I am wasting my time here when you are clearly disinclined to make a clean breast nor be of any help."_

" _And yet, there you stand." He said, emphasizing his words with a slight tap of his illustrious staff on the ground, sending up colorful, bright flowers that surrounded him like an enchanted shroud._

 _In her blind rampage, she had neglected to notice the floral profusions that had surrounded them from the very beginning, turning his room into a miniature flower garden. Unsurprisingly, its calming effect did nothing to diffuse her initial ire._

 _He continued, "Perhaps we can treat yesterday as an isolated incident. This is the first time that's happened, yes? You've been working yourself so hard that it's no wonder you snapped. If I were you, I'd not devote too much attention to it. I suspect it does not bother you that much either. Something more is on your mind, isn't there?"_

 _While Merlin's childish vivacity would not make anyone spare him a second glance, it was his unnaturally sharp eyes the color of lilacs penetrating her own that reminded her of just how truly inhuman he was, and it was hard for Arturia to not focus on it as Merlin went on. "I could simply find out for myself, but I'd rather ask you to tell me, like an upstanding and conforming citizen."_

'—And not like a certain king just moments earlier,' _was his unspoken addendum, but she did not rise to the bait._

 _Why she let Merlin get away with his insolent attitude and pranks that could easily get him beheaded was a question she has never gotten nor answered. Though he had been in service under her father prior to her reign and made many alterations to get her to where she is now, he was also exceptional in his skill as a mage. Anyone who had eyes could see that. His knowledge of magic was unparalleled to any other spellweaver in the country, as even every small footstep he took was infused with a mystery and magic uncommonly seen in this era._

 _However, that was the only thing people saw. Mages were seen as people possessing knowledge of the supernatural beyond regular humans' realm of understanding, therefore any magic they performed was easily perceived as paradigmatic to their area of expertise. To them, Merlin was just another one of the more exemplary sorcerers._

 _Yet he was far more than that. What they will never know are the circumstances of his birth; he was not as much of a human as he was a cambion. To most people of this era, the truth of incubi prowling the lands to subsist on human dreams and desires remain enshrouded in mystery, the notion of supernatural lilith-demons feasting on the human psyche too frightening to consider for common folk whose lives were deeply entrenched in reality._

 _Little did they know that Merlin was a living, breathing proof of it._

 _By normal standards, Arturia would have condemned him. After all, incubi were known to be filthy, avaricious fiends who tempted the innocent and virtuous, and cared little for honor. They cared not for the casualties they incur, only for their own wanton needs and desires._

 _But he had taken her in and raised her before she knew the concept of morality. He had visited her dreams to check on her and taught her swordsmanship before she knew the meaning of strength and responsibility. Before she pulled Caliburn out of the stone, he had shown her a future where she was a king and the great ruin that awaited her. He had warned her and given her a way out, but respected her decision all the same when she stood tall, unflinching and steadfast._

 _He had given her hope, a vision of the future where people were smiling. A vision she had vowed to pursue to the very end._

 _For all of the nuisances he wrought, for all his unfair talents and powers, he was the reason she had sheer optimism for the future. To slay him would be to slay her reason._

" _Arturia?"_

 _She sighed. "Were only you'd been a tad more reasonable, then perhaps I wouldn't have been so quick to hold you accountable."_

 _His ensuing laugh was bright and hearty, as carefree as his whole being. "But it wouldn't be fun, otherwise! Besides, reason is for humans. It is ill-suited for someone like me."_

" _So you say." Her eyes lingered on the flowers blooming without restraint around him, embellishing the whole room with a myriad of rainbow petals and a lightly wafting, floral fragrance. As he laughed, several flowers had sprouted around her feet, caressing her legs with feather-like movements. With each breath he took, more flowers ranging in size and color blossomed from the ground as if it were the most natural occurrence in the world._

 _They felt... alive, for lack of a better term, as they appeared and vanished, specks of pastel drifting through the air from a nonexistent breeze. Loathe as Arturia was to admit it, there was a certain beauty to Merlin's lack of reason._

" _Merlin," she said as a blossom drifted into her open palm. "I do appreciate you exercising consideration for my sake, but I'd rather not waste more time explaining things you've already seen regardless. If you'd be so kind?" Merlin's sight, she heard, is a type of clairvoyance that is not easily contained. Visions of the present era would come to him in spades or not at all. It was not an ability he could control freely. But all in all, it was very likely that he already knew about it if he brought the issue up in the first place._

" _Oh, Arturia. I do so miss the days when you would humor this old man." He sighed, the twinkle in his eye saying otherwise. Though his hair was devoid of pigmentation, he was as youthful as they come, with a dazzling smile and long, attractively unkempt hair befitting a beast of women. "Although I must admit, I am rather curious about this phenomenon myself. There is only so much my sight can show me. Would you mind dearly if I enter your chambers to inspect this 'letter'?"_

" _I—" The blonde king hesitated, unsure of what she wanted. "I'm not certain...that would be best. I may simply be overreacting. An honest answer for now will suffice, Merlin. Is this a prank? Or perhaps a prelude to insurrection? A foreign invasion? I must know."_

" _Neither, Your Majesty. Everyone in this castle respects you a great deal. No one you trust with your life will stoop so low as to leave such a crude message, and such a careless threat at that. Also, the barriers around this castle are still fully intact. If there has been a foreign breach, I would know of it immediately." He rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I have full confidence in my magic. No harm will come to you, so you may rest easier with that knowledge."_

" _...You are many things, Merlin, but I suppose being wrong is not one of them." She sighed, summoning a wry smile. "Very well. You have assuaged my fears somewhat. Thank you."_

 _And with that, she turned to leave, but not before a slightly surprised Merlin stopped her. "Wait a minute. Are you not curious to get to the bottom of this?"_

 _She sighed and looked back at him. "There is little use in ruminating over things we understand little of. While I would not mind further sating my curiosity, unfortunately, it is not a luxury granted to those responsible for the welfare of their nation." Her expression was grim. "I'm afraid I must take my leave. No doubt that my knights are already counting down the minutes to my arrival."_

" _Then let me ask you one last thing," There was a glint in his eyes that was neither mirth nor business, Arturia wasn't sure what it was. "Have you had any weird dreams as of late?"_

" _Dreams?" Arturia turned around, blood stirring as the implications of what he was asking began to sink in. "Merlin…"_

" _Now now, before you get any bright ideas like castrating a certain magus, I promise I didn't intrude in your dreams. I swear!" He waved his hands wildly, realizing the very real misunderstanding that would have occurred had he not corrected himself. Surely the curse of being half-incubus who preyed on dreams. "To do so would be a violation of my creed. I was just wondering, is all. So, have you?"_

" _Even if I have, I don't remember," Arturia's tone was clipped, irritated from being stalled for so long. "At most, I remember dreaming about someone else's life, but I do not know how this is relevant to my current predicament."_

" _Don't underestimate the power of dreams, Arturia," He reprimanded lightly. "Given enough influence, they have enough power to change reality."_

" _Yes, I'm sure you would know."_

" _How unscrupulous, Your Highness!" His pout was accentuated. "Anyhow, this may very well have something to do with your behavior yesterday. Although I regretfully had not been present to witness this most radical change in personality myself, but even so, I may have an inkling on what is happening." A cheeky —and frankly disconcerting— grin made its way to his face then. "Fu fu fu, I believe it is a stroke of fortune that has brought you here to me today! Do listen carefully."_

 _Her eyes flit to the window of his room in alarm, taking in the hour of sunlight that was pouring in before settling back on him. "Merlin, whatever it is-"_

" _No, you must hear me out!" Merlin insisted as he began to pace excitedly around the room, miraculously still mindful of the flowers in his path. "I've already formulated conjectures based on what I've perceived so far in my inexplicably long lifetime, but your timely experience has lent an invaluable, newfound credibility to my long-standing theory in regards to the metaphysical._

 _At long last, I have finally found my answer! You see, I've recently become increasingly aware of the possibility that in this universe, there are elements of a grander superposition, and that the world we live in is merely one of many causally connected subsystems that coexist alongside a series of ever-involving timelines which branch off to accommodate all possibilities, meaning that there may have been an anomaly that triggered in which_ _ **you**_ _dreamed of yourself in another timeline, of another_ _ **you**_ _who has a completely alternate personality, hence your amnesia—wait, Arturia?!"_

" _Goodbye, Merlin." Without another word, she vanished through the door._

 _._

 _._

 _._

"King Arthur." A voice smoothly interjected into her thoughts. "Is something amiss?"

Before she knows it, her feet have taken her to the throne room where she holds conference with her knights. Standing in the entrance is one of her most loyal and able-bodied; Gawain. Despite what must be her visible apprehension, he remains as gallant as ever, gazing upon her with nothing short of reverent anticipation.

If she is a king cloaked under the providence of the moon, then he is the brilliant knight under the sun. Wielder of the holy sister-sword to her own legendary blade, he is one of the first to pledge his sword to Arturia and is a prime volunteer for tasks concerning the populace, as he seemed to be held in high regards alongside Tristan, another fellow knight of the Table.

Suffice to say, Gawain's steady volitional presence by her side has earned him the renown of being her right-hand man; some even going as far to say he would succeed her as future king, which she did not think was a preposterous notion. If there is ever something she's grateful for, it is that he is loyal and eulogizing to a fault. As a result, he is rarely prone to prattle or meddling into personal business, his straightforward gaze devoted solely to the logistics of honor and duty.

Arturia clears her throat. "My apologies, Sir Gawain. Has an assembly been made in order?"

"Yes, my King." He says, bowing deeply. "We shall begin when Your Majesty permits us."

"Very well," Arturia replies with a proud firmness, willing away the last of her lingering fears. "Let us confer with the Knights of the Round."

.

.

.

The meeting concludes without much ado and everyone leaves to go their separate ways, but not before exchanging obeisances and pleasantries with their king. She entertains them all, the storm in her heart tiding over into nothing more than fading specters.

It is afterwards when she is left alone in the throne room that she remembers the letter, and thinks about fetching it to prevent stray servants chancing upon it and raise alarm. Then she can finally proceed to the next order of the day.

Leaving the throne room, she hears two distinctly familiar voices around the corner.

"—Speaking of, how is she?"

"My Lady. King Arthur has spearheaded the meeting at the Table today with none the pragmaticism displayed the day before. He—she is all well, I believe. I assume she has now retired to her other duties."

Arturia had already been preparing to greet them. Had she taken a few more steps, she would have come face to face with them, but what she hears stun her enough to cease her movements.

She does not find it off-putting that one of her newer knights is speaking to her future Queen. In fact, she finds it heartwarming; if Guinevere, someone who was not part of the Round, can help ease his transition into Camelot and make him feel more welcome, then she has no reason to feel otherwise.

What she doesn't expect, however, is his referring to her as a woman. There is no one in Camelot who should know of her rigidly concealed gender, aside from Merlin, her biological father (whom she has never met), her adoptive family members Sir Kay and Sir Ector, and…...Guinevere.

There is a soft sigh. "Thank goodness. I just needed to make sure..."

"Pardon my impudence, but I was under the impression that you visited her this morning."

"At ease, Sir Lancelot. And that I have. She did seem fine when I last checked," Guinevere says. "However, she left the room posthaste after I mentioned yesterday's events to her, presumably to hunt down Merlin. I have not seen her since." She sighs again. "I worry that she may be too incensed."

He speaks his next words slowly, as though he is testing the sound of them on his tongue. "If I may...please do not burden yourself with distress, My Lady. As an expatriate knight of the Table, I cannot speak on behalf of her Majesty, but I am certain she appreciates your concern."

"You are very kind, Knight of the Lake." Guinevere replies, and Arturia can imagine her smiling at him with the same smile she gives Arturia. "How of yourself? Please take care not to aggravate your wounds even further."

"Wounds…? Ah, from yesterday? There is no need for concern, milady. 'Twas merely a scratch."

"Sir Lancelot, please. I know a flesh wound when there is one."

"Truly, you exaggerate." Arturia hears the wince in his voice. "I admit I was not at my peak yesterday. But it was my own mistake to bear, for my mind was elsewhere."

"Why do you insist on feigning?" Guinevere protests. "I've seen you spar with her many a times, Sir Lancelot. Both of you are familiar with each other's footwork and movements, not to mention hailed as the strongest Knights of the Round, so a duel between you both would be more a dance of attrition than a quick match."

"Your Highness—"

"But she caught you completely off guard yesterday. You barely blocked her swings and thrusts. Overwhelmed, you let her strike you. Luckily, it was with a false edge, but even that is still more than enough for anyone to sustain internal injuries."

Although her voice is level and even as always, there is a slight urgency underneath for those who observe more closely.

Lancelot seemed to notice the change. "Please…I implore you—"

"—The fact still remains that our King was acting differently. Her swings were wild and unpredictable, and she ambushed you when you were clearly at a disadvantage. It was a raw, savage display of power, and—"

"I cannot allow you to insult King Arthur like this, Lady Guinevere."

"—for a second, _just_ for a second... I thought...I was certain, beyond a shadow of doubt, she was going to cut you down." At this point, her voice hitches, and she swallows. Only now she realizes the grave danger her words pose, and she descends into panic. "I apologize, I did not mean…"

"King Arthur will never cut down one of her own. In this, I trust with my whole being. If she does, then it will have been on account of an honorable judgement." Lancelot's tone is firm, unwavering.

There is a pregnant pause, long enough that Arturia is tempted to peek out and make sure they are still there. But before she can do so, the silence is broken.

"...If I may, Sir Lancelot," Guinevere whispers, her shoulders wracking with heavy emotion. "Please… please forget I ever said anything. I know our king would never do anything of the sort, and yet somehow, I… I-I lost sight of reason and sullied her honor." Her breaths grow shakier, and her words are wet. "How could I call myself Arthur's consort? We have not yet even been married. Please, I—"

"My lady!" Arturia hears Lancelot suck in a deep breath and has to restrain herself from rushing out at the sound of a sudden thud. Was it Guinevere? Has she collapsed? "Please do not prostrate yourself. This is entirely unnecessary; I am merely but a lowly knight. King Arthur will not want to see you abase yourself so. You must stand tall." After what Arturia assumes Lancelot is helping her straighten herself, he continues. "I wish to be able to repay your kindness in whatever way I can, my Lady. But you are not being yourself. So please, will you tell me what is ailing you?"

"I'm merely concerned for both of you!"

"Truly?"

Her short silence gives Arturia reason to believe she refuses to answer or simply dismiss him, but then she hears her take a deep breath.

"I do not bear any ill will towards our King. I have always cherished her deeply, ever since our childhood. That will never change. But I…." Guinevere pauses, her voice only just above a whisper.

Arturia knows she is wrong, eavesdropping like this, but it is too late for her to do anything about it now. For what it is worth, she has a feeling that these are words she will never get to hear directly. She knows Guinevere is too kind to burden Arturia with her problems, despite her willingness to listen.

Her conscience screams at the prospect of using Lancelot's presence to her advantage, almost to the point where it is simply too much to bear.

Straining her ears, Arturia waits for her to finish, heart pounding in an emotion she cannot name, feet inching forward against her wishes.

Guinevere doesn't finish.

"...I understand." Lancelot replies finally.

Without thinking, Arturia steps out from the shadows and into the light.

Guinevere sees her first and blanches. When Lancelot follows her line of sight, she sees his eyes widen before quickly returning to its solemn countenance, and he bows to her.

"King Arthur…!"

"Good afternoon, Sir Lancelot, Lady Guinevere." Arturia schools her expression into a perfect neutrality as she nods to each of them. She is inwardly relieved that her voice remains level and steady. "It is good to see you two again. I trust the day has been treating you well?"

"Quite so, Your Highness," Lancelot replies first. "I was en route to counsel the new recruits, and I just so happened to bump into Lady Guinevere. It seems she has been worried for you."

"I see," Arturia's reply is candid. "Lancelot. You have my gratitude."

He seems taken aback by her words, as if it was the last thing he was expecting to hear from her. "King Arthur…?"

"You are concerned for Lady Guinevere," she states simply. "In my conglomeration of duties as King, I cannot help but neglect the wellbeing of my queen from time to time. But you, my strongest knight, you have proved to be an invaluable friend to her. And for that, I thank you. Please continue to be of service to her."

For all of her misgivings, the smile she dons toward him at that moment is not fake; she is well and truly grateful to him for serving as her queen's much-needed emotional crutch. In the past, before their induction to the castle, Arturia has never really seen her truly befriend anyone aside from Arturia.

Arturia's beginnings were modest, and she befriended many townsfolk from whence she originated. Adults and children alike approached and interacted with her freely, blissfully unaware of her status as a Pendragon heir. Elated by the easy acceptance, Arturia lived among them sans concern for royal obligations.

But unlike her, Guinevere was raised as royalty and segregated from birth. She had borne an aura of exquisite beauty and virtue that further set her apart from everyone else. With cascading blonde locks akin to the brilliance of the sun, eyes bluer than the ocean, and skin fairer than a maiden, she is Britain's beloved, a paragon of eminence who can only be extolled from a distance. As such, no one dared to come close to her— not even Arturia was allowed to, as she was known to be a commoner at the time. So Guinevere had little choice but to grow up alone for most of her life, in a country torn by political strife and warfare.

Their friendship had only truly begun after Arturia pulled Caliburn out of the stone and she initiated her training to become a knight. It was then that restrictions to meet each other had been lifted, and they were allowed to spend time with each other as fellow royalty. Unfortunately, not much changed since Arturia had to frequently embark on tours across the land and leave Guinevere for prolonged periods of time; although she always made sure to spend most of her time with Guinevere every time she returned to make up for lost time.

Arturia, sad as she was, had long accepted that this was how it was meant to be. Until the day Arturia assumed court, she had never seen Guinevere become good friends with anyone.

Until the arrival of a foreign knight.

Incursions from mercenary forces hailing from the South and North would happen frequently, as enemies sought to expand and conquer land. Most kings of her time would prioritize personal safety and issue commands from their base of operations, but Arturia was another case altogether. She would often lead the charge herself, foregoing elaborate plans and military tactics for direct, impartial swordfighting in its most honest and primal form.

It was not a matter of reckless abandon, but rather, a simple code of chivalry, one that was later woven into the groundwork of a great confederation of knights, whose names and acclaimed deeds would be immortalized and spread like wildfire throughout the far reaches of the continent.

She will never forget the day when Lancelot came riding into Camelot from foreign soil. She had been outnumbered by her enemies, yet she still fought on atop her steed. It took only but a single look at her for Lancelot fearlessly swear fealty to her in the midst of heated battle, brandishing his mighty sword Arondight by her side with naught the qualms of a customary knight, but a true companion.

To possess an ironclad will of conviction, to rise and assume mantle of an onus they had a choice not to bear, to stand beside the king. Looking back, it was only natural that these two cross paths.

Lancelot looks as though to disagree, but instead bows his head in acquiescence. "I am greatly humbled by your gratitude, my lord."

She turns to the person next to him, whose silence has been keenly felt up until now. "Guinevere."

Jerking slightly out of her reverie, Guinevere's voice stutters when she speaks, although her effort to maintain an air of repose is commendable. "Y-Yes, Arthur, my King?"

"I apologize for running out on you this morning. It was not my intention to dismiss myself in such a crass manner." Arturia sighs. "I suppose you were right. Much has been weighing on my mind as of late, hence my state of unrest. I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Please don't apologize, my Lord! I…" Guinevere looks lost, gaze darting to several corners of the corridor before flitting to Lancelot and down again.

Lancelot gives a start and takes a step back. "Ah, I shall tarry no longer. My apologies. By Your Highness' leave, I shall proceed to the training grounds. I do not wish to set a grave impression on the recruits' first day."

"Godspeed, Lancelot," Arturia nods, letting Lancelot turn around and vanish from sight.

"Arthur, I…" At the sound of her name, Arturia turns towards Guinevere, eyebrows rising at her sudden change in expression.

Her gaze meets hers, earnest and somewhat brighter than before. "Would you happen to be terribly busy?"

It is not wrong to say Arturia is busy. After all, a king's work is never complete for as long as they are in reign. She could think of many things that she could be doing, like scheduling the next hunt, making the rounds in the castle, exchanging information to the various lords of the lands she allied with around Camelot.

Fortunately or no, yesterday's tournament had been highly anticipated for quite some time since their formal announcement a few months ago, as King Arthur's engagement had long been public hearsay for years. It is said that people from all over would travel hundreds of miles to see an such an event, and merchants would no doubt leap at the chance of a guaranteed boom in the town's commerce.

Now that it is over, festivities are slowly beginning to wind down, and for royalty to take a day's breather after such a celebrated occasion before resuming their activities is not looked at askance.

The workaholic in her protests against the idea of setting aside daily paperwork or organizing patrols for leisure, but she has to remind herself that's what the knights are for. At the very least, she has no need to rush until Gawain has finished his round of social work and delivers his report. Agravain, a knight of the Table and her adjutant, known for his moniker _Agravain Who Knew No Wounds_ , had left for border patrol soon after Arturia had adjourned the knights' meeting along with Gareth and Gaheris, and there was none more reliable in matters of protection as he.

And perhaps Guinevere and Merlin are right. She had been working tirelessly up to the day of the tournament on top of their regular obligations and potential barbaric invasions, and the perpetual accumulation of stress caused her to snap. Some fresh air may sound like a good idea.

And speaking of Guinevere's earlier behavior...

Guinevere looks crestfallen at Arturia's lack of reply. "Please forget what I just said. That was inconsiderate of me, after what you've gone through. I can arrange a tarriance another time, at a later convenience."

"Gwen?" Arturia wonders aloud.

It gets the effect across; Guinevere blinks as she processes her childhood nickname, which Arturia was now using of her own accord —in public, nonetheless. "Um...yes?"

"It's a beautiful day today. Why don't we go for a walk?"

.

.

.

"Kay, what are you doing?"

A string of curses is her reply as the knight whose head was currently stuck in a hedge pulled back and swivelled around to look at them, looking a little worse for wear. Arturia fights back an inelegant sound at the state of his head, ferns and petals clinging to strands of hair like stubborn parasite.

"Oh. Hey there, Arthur." He says gruffly. When he sees Guinevere, however, he pats himself down and conducts a proper bow. "And a good afternoon to you, Lady Guinevere."

Guinevere, who is slightly amused, curtsied in her gown. "And to you as well, Sir Kay."

His peculiar attitude does not go unnoticed, and Arturia crosses her arms. "Good day to you too, Kay. How nice it would be if you'd show me the same amount of respect you do Guinevere."

From an untrained person's point of view, her voice was stern and unforgiving, with more than enough jurisdiction to reduce an average knight into immediate prostration, or worse, exile.

Kay snorted. "Bah, can't be bothered. Literally every other knight is already doing that." He looks at their surroundings, as if he is searching for something. "Besides, we're in your private gardens. Ain't nobody gonna come by here 'cept you and her Highness."

She lifts a brow. "And so? What brings you here then?"

"That bastard magus of yours, what else. Wouldna have any business here, otherwise." He straightened, clicking his tongue. "Say, you by any chance seen his hideous white furball?"

"White... furball?" Guinevere tilts her head in confusion as she looks at Arturia. "This isn't Cavall, is it?"

Cavall is one of the dogs specialized for game hunting and scouting, yet his circumstance was special. Unlike other dogs who had been specifically bred to hunt and kill, their pedigree honed for maximized speed and sharpened senses, Cavall is at best a stray dog that Arturia found by happenstance during one of her forays into town. He is a dog that is less of a hound and more of a sheep herder, with his white fur and slender build.

However, that wasn't what drew Arturia to him. Cavall had been lying in the shadows of an alley, wounded and whimpering with a fearsome gash on his side. He was malnourished and weak; it was clear his days were very numbered. It proved to be a sight that compelled her to bring the poor dog to the castle —bypassing the baffled expressions of townsfolk at their mighty and powerful king bloodying his hands with some dirty mutt— and proceeded to nurse the dog back to health personally in between her perpetually burgeoning duties, even though she had already entrusted him to a caretaker.

Since then on, any attempt there was to separate the dog from her took much more effort than it was necessary. His attachment to her grew to the point that she had (eventually) let him sleep with her at the foot of her bed. Lately, there hadn't been a day when the white shepherd wouldn't sneak out of the herdsman's view and creep into her room to accompany her slumber, and despite his caretaker's profuse apologies, Arturia found that she didn't really mind at all.

During her time as Kay's squire while living under Sir Ector's roof, she had regularly tended to their horses as part of her duties, and had eventually grown fond of caring for them even in the scant remains of her spare time. She would keep them company and fall asleep to the swishing of their manes, waking up to their gentle nudging and snorting when the rays of dawn peek in through the stable doors. It was a labor of love that she was forced to discard since her inauguration ceremony, but she suspected rescuing Cavall had served as a nostalgic anamnesis to those days that she couldn't bring herself to turn him away.

Speaking of, Arturia had not seen her beloved dog since she woke up this morning. The next hunt wasn't scheduled until next week, so he should still be wandering around the castle. She wonders if he's distracted chasing after some poor mice, though their existence was debatable as the castle was kept in consistently immaculate condition. Perhaps she'll find the time to stop by the stables later and see if he's there.

"No… I presume he's speaking of something else," a sense of deja vu passes over her then, and Arturia bites her lip. "Did Merlin send you after his familiar...again?"

"Wipe that grin off your face, Arthur," Kay glares, an attempt at intimidation that only serves to make him look sillier, considering the thorny mess that was his hair. "Don't think I don't know what's going through your head. I still haven't gotten him back for the shitstorm he caused me back then."

By his eloquent wording, Arturia has a mild idea of what he is referring to. "But Kay, that was years ago. Don't you think it's high time to set aside past grudges and move on?"

"A few years ain't gonna do jackshit for me to forget the hells you two dragged me into." He narrows his eyes. "I swear to god, this is the _last_ time he's sending me on a dumb fetch quest for his pet. Dunno know why I even bother..."

"Um," Guinevere interjects timidly, curiosity overruling her silence. "Has this happened before?"

Arturia's answer is sheepish. "...A couple times, yes. Back when I was still a knight and travelled across the land with Kay and Merlin, Merlin would often times lose his familiar and make Kay look for it."

"Just Sir Kay?"

She laughs faintly. "Well…"

"Now that I think about it, Arty here's not too different from the furry nuisance," Kay smirks, one that Arturia has had years of experience with. And not the good kind. "Where I'd be off chasing familiars, she'd disappear and poke her nose in some poor sap's business. Got a knack for landing herself in deep shit too. And ya could always trust Merlin to make it worse."

Guinevere chuckles. "It must not have been easy for you, Sir Kay."

"You don't say," he scoffs. "Our former knight princess here was a real handful. It's a miracle how she made it this far with all her meddling."

"I think that's quite enough." Arturia cuts in, irritated. "Private gardens it may be, I'd still much rather you not toss around my gender so casually, Kay."

"Eh, sorry, your Majesty. Got a lil' carried away." The knight rubs the back of his head, not looking all that contrite. "Anyways, doesn't look like it's here. Guess it's time to go look some place elsewhere."

Arturia sighs, knowing that her plea likely falls on deaf ears. "Are you going into town?"

"Looks like it. Anything you want tell the old man?"

"Not really. Send him my regards. I plan to stop by at some point soon."

"Fine by me." Kay turns to leave, before jerking slightly as if remembering something. "Oh, Lady Guinevere. While you probably have a bunch of stuff on your plate, I hope you don't mind making sure she doesn't work herself to the bone. You know what she's like. Father's worried."

Arturia nearly groans. "Kay, please."

"Hey, hey. There's gotta be a reason you got so worked up the other day. It's okay to let loose every once in awhile, y'know? You're only human." he says, rather unapologetically. "Though...I'd advise against a repeat of yesterday."

Naturally, he had to bring up _that_ incident. Arturia supposes it is just a matter of time. "Just leave."

Kay waves and makes his way to the exit. It is only then that Arturia notices the thistles still stuck at the back of his head. She debates on not telling him, but then decides it's not worth the pettiness.

"You might want to fix your hair unless you want to go out looking like that!" Arturia calls after him right as he vanishes around the corner, not knowing if he heard or not.

Arturia rubs her temple, and Guinevere giggles. "You two get along famously for step-siblings."

"I beg to differ. Kay is exhausting to deal with. He just doesn't change." Arturia replies as she watches Guinevere walk ahead in front of her to sit down in one of the garden's pristine white loveseats.

Guinevere soothes out the folds on her dress and makes herself comfortable before glancing expectantly at her, and it's enough for Arturia to take the cue. She walks forward and sits next to her, her posture anything but relaxed. Guinevere doesn't seem to notice.

"I find the camaraderie of siblings to be very fascinating," Guinevere begins contemplatively. "You fight, you make up, you bicker, and so the cycle goes on. Yet despite it all, it will never break the bonds of family. It is truly the epitome of platonic affection, even moreso if you are a family unrelated by blood. As an only child, I will never be able to experience that kind of love for myself." Strangely enough, her voice holds no trace of mourning, only pensiveness.

Still, Arturia feels a twinge of guilt. "Gwen..."

"That's why I think bonds like that must always be treasured, no matter what." She smiles and looks at Arturia. "He's right, you know. You've always been so fiercely independent. Sir Kay cares a great deal for you, Arturia. As we all do. We're a family now, so don't be afraid to lean on us, alright?"

 _But what of yourself, Guinevere?_

She remembers Guinevere's earlier encounter with Lancelot, how her distress was made palpable on her face as she recounted the horrendous events of yesterday. Most of all, she cannot forget Guinevere's last sentence, the foreboding uneasiness burrowing into her gut that she feels would have consumed her had she not walked out of the shadows that very moment.

 _Even now, you still think of my feelings over yours. Even when you are suffering more than I._

Lost in her thoughts, she barely notices Guinevere reaching into her pocket and pulling out a folded piece of parchment, hesitantly handing it to Arturia. The King stares at the paper for a second, uncomprehending, before the smattering of words peeking out from under the folded paper slaps her back to reality faster than she could blink.

 _ **Since when do they let court jesters become king?**_

Arturia sucks in a gasp before snatching the offending document, crumpling it up in her hands and turning away from Guinevere.

"How did you find this?"

"I'm sorry, Arturia. I didn't mean to snoop through your things," She says. "But you left your room in such a disarray this morning that I thought to do a little tidying for your return. I found that while I was rearranging the paperwork on your desk. I apologize if I have overstepped my boundaries. Truly."

Arturia crumples the paper tighter in her hands. Curse her for being so careless. If only she hadn't let her emotions get the better of her and hid it better.

"What is the meaning of this, Arturia?" Guinevere continues, her mildewed voice holding a tint of a tremble. "Who could have—"

"Guinevere, I beg of you. Please don't let anyone else know. I—" _I trust you_ , she wants to say, but then remembers how Guinevere was probably the one most likely to reveal her most guarded secret to Lancelot, and now she isn't so sure of anything anymore.

"Arturia….." She lays a hand on Arturia's. "I know all too well your tendency to keep everything to yourself. I understand. If you would let me, I will devote all of my power to help you find the perpetrator. But if you wish for me to keep this under my discretion, I shall. Under these circumstances, I do not blame you for having succumbed to belligerence, so please forgive me for my ignorance."

Bewildered, Arturia looks up from Guinevere's hand on hers to see understanding dawn in her Queen's eyes and an encouraging smile directed her way. Could it be… she believes that Arturia's behavior yesterday was a result of the anonymous threat residing in her hands?

As much as she wants to agree with Guinevere, it still did not explain her amnesia of the events that happened the day prior, even moreso the fact that she had only just discovered the incriminating message today. When she racks her brain and tries to recall anything from yesterday, there is absolutely nothing, not even a foggy haziness.

The way Guinevere talked about her, the knowing glances some Knights threw each other during the meeting, and how Lancelot was injured by her, it all felt like they were talking about another person entirely. An imposter, but not Arturia herself. It was like seeing herself through a looking glass, which only brings up more questions with no answers. The more she thinks about it, the more questions there are, and the less she knows. The last thing she wants is to drag Guinevere into this.

To Arturia, smiling now feels like lifting heavy weights. "Thank you for your concern. It was wrong of me to keep this from you. Please rest assured that if this becomes a problem for me, I will come to you. I promise."

"Arturia..." Guinevere's eyes widen, brilliant blue sparkling like the ocean. "You...mean it…?"

Her reaction confuses Arturia. If she doesn't know better, she could have sworn Guinevere looks… surprised. Did she say something weird? No, she didn't give anything away. "Yes…? Is something the matter?"

Before she knows it, Guinevere leans forward and wraps her up in an impromptu embrace, causing Arturia to let out a nonplussed sound at the sudden show of affection. "G-Gwen? Are you alright?"

"I'm...I'm fine!" She sniffles, burrowing her head deeper into a flustered Arturia's shoulder. "You silly king… I'm just overjoyed. When was the last time you allowed yourself to rely on me? I've missed being your confidante, Arturia. Ever since you assumed the throne, you've let your duties consume you whole that I felt… helpless and lonely. Nothing can possibly describe the happiness that I feel right now."

To describe the ugly sensation welling up in her throat is difficult, and she thanks the heavens that Guinevere is currently too preoccupied to see the expression on Arturia's face.

"I'm sorry to have alienated you, Gwen. I didn't think about how my actions would have affected you."

Even though she thinks of it constantly, even though she dreads the fact that she will need to continue deceiving her and that to take her words back now would be too cruel. The Guinevere in her arms now is too unsuspecting, too innocent and lovely.

"Stop apologizing. It's not your fault." She feels Guinevere shake her head. "I'm just being selfish. Let me support you in the way I know best."

"Guinevere…" She lets her hands tentatively rest on Guinevere's back, the warmth of her seeping into her undeserving hands. "By just being by my side, you have supported me immensely. I am genuinely grateful to you, for I would not have made it this far without you." Arturia affirms. "The path of kingship I am undertaking is long and arduous, and though I may no longer be able to return to the person I once was, I hope you will still stay by my side regardless."

"Arturia…" She pulls back, her face contorting into a small frown. "That's not true. You carry the weight of the nation now upon your shoulders, but that still does not change who you are. You're my dear best friend, the loveliest lily I've ever known. I am a woman and so are you. It is only natural that we should confide in each other in these dark times; the duties of a king should not change that."

Lily….she was still referring back to that time, a relic of those days, the last pieces of the heart of a girl who dreamed of happiness. A knight brimming with romantic heroism, whose eagerness to please outshone the light of the heavens themselves. A soul that lept at every opportunity to bring prosperity to every person she meets. She had cradled her hopes and dreams close to her heart, when her only wish —aside from assuming her intended role— was nothing other than to care for her beloved horses. Her physical appearance had not changed a single bit since that time, thanks to Excalibur's divine magic, yet everything seemed like a distant memory.

"Being a king," Arturia exhales. "Requires you to give up your previous life. Your childhood, your feelings, your humanity. For the sake of your nation."

There is a brief silence as Guinevere's eyes cloud over, and Arturia's sharp eyes see the slight sag in her shoulders.

"Even your womanhood?"

"Even that." she replies, not missing a beat.

.

.

.

Later that evening, Arturia finds herself sequestered in her room, leaning against the balcony that overlooks the entire city of Camelot. Their walk had taken longer than Arturia had anticipated. Arturia was not much of a conversationalist, but Guinevere always had a knack to keep a conversation going.

They had talked about all sorts of things, from her encounter with Merlin to Guinevere's plans for the next few days, and though she seemed jovial, her frequent innuendos of the past would hint Arturia on something else. It wasn't hard to see from the glazed look in her eyes whenever she talked about it that she missed the days long past, but there was really nothing Arturia could do about it.

It didn't help that when she had seen Guinevere off some hours ago, right before she left, she had given her a fresh flower lily picked during their walk in the royal gardens. It is a lily that Arturia is now twirling absentmindedly in between her fingers as she watches over the flickering lights of the town below, though it does not take long for her mind to wander back on the events of that day.

Apparently, she had injured Lancelot to the point of requiring medical assistance. How did that even happen? She grits her teeth. It unnerves her that she could have done this while being blissfully unaware. Even if she can't feign true remorse from something that she has no recollection of doing, she'll need to approach him and make amends somehow.

But that isn't all.

What unnerves her the most was how well he had kept it concealed. During the meeting, he had acted no differently, communing with the other Knights and reporting his duties with the same fervor as always. It was only when Arturia happened to 'stumble' upon his conversation with Guinevere that she knew.

It makes her wonder if there are other Knights she had grievously injured without knowing, and the thought makes her stomach roil. She can only imagine the conversations they have when she is not there, of possible offenses that she will never be able to recall.

And Guinevere. She had been scared of Arturia. Even now, Arturia can still hear the clear echo of Guinevere's words in her head, recounting how it was that Arturia incapacitated Lancelot. In the end, it was Lancelot who had to reassure Guinevere of their faith in Arturia as king. Lancelot, who had only settled in Camelot a couple of seasons, and Guinevere, who had known her for a great deal of her life.

She holds no malcontent for Guinevere's actions. She cannot blame her for something that Arturia herself did, even if she is unaware of it. But just for a second, she wonders. Likely thanks to Guinevere, Lancelot knows of her true gender. But how long had he known? She assumes just recently, based on his visible discomfort in addressing her as such.

Her hand tightens around the stem of the lily. Maybe if Lancelot hadn't secretly known of her gender...maybe he wouldn't have underestimated her yesterday. He could have stayed on guard, and she would not have inflicted such harm.

If Guinevere felt she could be fully comfortable with Arturia, perhaps she would not have felt the need to confide in another, and kept her secret securely under lock and key.

And despite what Guinevere tells her countless of times, there is nothing that can erase the guilt that Arturia feels for robbing Guinevere of a normal, happy life of freedom and love.

As the curtain of the night falls and silence slowly begins to envelope the city in its peaceful embrace, Arturia spares a last glance at the scentless flower in her hands before letting it be carried away by the night breeze, watching as it grows smaller and smaller until it is just a tiny speck in the distance.

She looks up at a distant star, shining with an omnipotence unlike the rest. A beacon of light drawing countless clusters of smaller stars to it like children surrounding one who birthed them. The star of creation, situated far, far on the horizon, its brilliance splitting the heavens and earth asunder.

Letting herself be fooled by its temporary omniscience, she casts a wishful, selfish, voiceless plea.

 _If only I could be a male king in another life..._


End file.
